


we could be bigger and brighter than space

by starseti



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Evgenia-centric, F/F, Fluff, Gay, Not Beta Read, overuse of flowery language oops, yzvr if u squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 14:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16266047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starseti/pseuds/starseti
Summary: (In another world she holds Alina as she cries and kisses her salty tears off of her cheeks and fixes her smudged makeup so that Alina would smile that sweet smile of hers and everything would be alright.)In this world Alina is a strong girl and she cries on her own.





	we could be bigger and brighter than space

“Try not to forget about me when you’re in Canada,” Alina says, gently shoving Evgenia on the shoulder as she skates past. Her hair whips in front of her face as she turns to face the other, eyes glinting with humor, a crescent moon smile gracing her lips.

 

Evgenia feels her heart skip a beat as she meets Alina’s eyes. “Is Ms. Zagitova going to be lonely without me by her side?”

 

A laugh. “No. You will be lonely without me.” She slows and waits for Evgenia to settle by her side.

 

“Hmm, I don’t know! I’ll have plenty of friends in Toronto. And they’ll appreciate my hugs. Unlike you.”

 

“Ah! Let go!” Evgenia wraps her arms around Alina with all the grace of an inebriated octopus. The two of them lurch dangerously to the side as Alina’s balance is momentarily disrupted, and they stumble awkwardly toward one side. Evgenia feels Alina half-heartedly struggle against her grip, her chest warm with the cadence of Alina’s giggles.

 

“Let go!” Alina manages again between laughs, breaking free from her Evgenia-shaped backpack. “Leave your strangle-hugs for your Canadian friends!”

 

Evgenia lunges for her again, this time to no avail as Alina slips through her fingertips and glides smoothly away. She has the audacity to laugh when Evgenia almost falls on her face in a very undignified manner. 

 

Her laughter bounces off the walls of the Sambo-70 rink, and Evgenia finds herself looking up at the ceiling, almost wanting to preserve those peals of laughter in the cavity of the ceiling. She takes in as much of the rink as she can; her eyes follow the orange rafters to the protruding white lights, to the couple of billboards across the ice, and finally to Alina, dwarfed by the vast, empty, space of the ice rink. Inside, Evgenia feels something akin to loss, to nostalgia.

 

“Are you going to miss this place?” Alina sidles up to Evgenia, voice somber.

 

“No. I don’t want to.”

 

Alina glances at Evgenia, her face neutral but her eyes wide, holding something akin to despair that Evgenia can’t quite decipher or understand, but she looks so young and vulnerable that it tears Evgenia’s heart in two anyway.

 

“Not this place, not her, I mean. I’ll miss you though.”

 

Alina smiles, but it’s the type she wears in front of cameras, the one the she pulls on the moment she enters the rink and strips off the moment she goes home. It’s the costume that she leaves in the dressing rooms when speaking with Evgenia because she doesn’t need it, but _why why why is she wearing it now_?

 

There’s no foundation or eyeliner or red lipstick and tutu, and yet, Evgenia is talking to a stranger.

 

“I’ll miss you too.”

 

A smile meets another smile.

 

_I’m sorry_.

 

Evgenia leaves her home of fifteen years.

 

* * *

 

[2:43 pm]

 

janny: that’s where mine is gonna go 

 

janny: right under javi’s 

 

janny: see you in beijing ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first picture that Evgenia sends Alina is of the wall of Olympic medalists at the Cricket Club.

 

She tries her best to prevent a huge grin from spreading across her face as she types and fails miserably. Upon further consideration, she shoves her phone in her bag before she begins hyper-analyzing every word she’d sent.

 

Evgenia’s hair is still a little damp from her shower, but she feels exponentially better after having changed from her sweaty training clothes. Her chest still feels a little raw from when she’d burst into tears earlier during Tracy’s stroking lesson. 

 

The woman had been gentle to her, as if she was a child, and Evgenia let that kindness seep into her bones like a warm fire on a winter day. Tracy had hugged her like her mother hugged her. It was strange, because she’d never really associated skating with warmth, never associated Eteri’s embrace with her mother’s. 

 

It was nice. Canada was nice, Brian was nice, Jason was nice and Tracy was nice. Even if she had to struggle through the day speaking English and almost crash into the walls every time she forgot that there were no boards.

 

And then there was the homesickness, which swallowed her before she even left Moscow, and by the time she’d reached Toronto it had spit her out, warded off by her excitement and the familiar crunch of ice beneath her blades and Jason’s bear hugs. Evgenia worried that it would return every meal that she ate with her mother, every bite of food that reminded her of home.

 

It takes time, but Toronto slowly becomes another home, starting with the rink at the Cricket Club, and everyone there (Jason, Tracy, Brian, Gabby, Javi, David, Ghislain, Sandra, Jun, Yuzu) becomes family - in the same way that Maria and Elena and Polina were (are).

 

She invites Jason over after practice again, and they sit at the dinner table between miscellaneous items that hadn’t quite been packed yet, a plate of fruit between them.

 

“You sure you don’t want a piece?” A forked strawberry waves so close to her face that she almost goes crosseyed. “I feel a little bad for eating all of yours and Zhanna’s food.”

 

For the past three days that Evgenia had invited him over, Jason had been the only one eating the snacks that Evgenia’s mother had prepared. 

 

“ _Call me Zhanna, there’s no need to thank me, help yourself to some watermelon. You too Zhenya, take some as well._ ” Evgenia had translated everything but the last line.

 

Evgenia takes the fork and moves it out of her face. She’s tempted to say no out of reflex, the way that she’s done the last three days and the last fifteen years. Her dietician’s nasally voice repeats in her head: “ _You can eat other foods as well, as long as you follow the set diet_.”

 

When was the last time she had eaten sweet cream or waffles or bliny or toast with butter? She remembers being a child with sticky fingers. She imagines being an adult with sticky fingers.

 

Fifteen years that lasted a lifetime. A lifetime that lasted fifteen years.

 

She takes the strawberry.

 

Then two more.

 

Her dietician lets her, and she learns to eat healthy.

 

The junk food cravings eventually go away and her fingers are sticky with fruit juice instead of the sugar of smuggled sweets during off season.

 

* * *

 

 

[12:05 am]

 

azagitova: i’m seeing you during test skates, medo

 

azagitova: beijing is in four years

 

 

* * *

 

 

[8:03 am]

 

janny: details 

 

janny: see you there! :D

 

* * *

 

 

[12:04 pm]

 

azagitova: i liked your short

 

azagitova: still needs a little work but what else are test skates for?

 

azagitova: good luck today

 

* * *

 

“Trust your training.”

 

Nod.

 

“You don’t need to be perfect now.”

 

Nod.

 

Blind panic, and she thinks that her heartbeat has to be audible on the other side of the rink.

 

Center of rink, settle. Deep breath. Music.

 

Move.

 

_Skate_.

 

The jumps are there, but she forgets the choreography, mind drawing a blank.

 

Her empty skate is greeted with a quizzical look from David and some improvements and encouragements from Brian.

 

It’s not perfect, but it’s okay.

 

She doesn’t watch anyone else’s skates, and if anyone said hello, it’s likely she missed it, the entire afternoon a blank spot in her memory. The only things there are David and Brian and her mother.

 

Later on, she eats on camera for the first time in an interview. The watermelon is red and sweet and it tastes like a new beginning.

 

* * *

 

Polina sends her the video only after she returns to the hotel.

 

It’s from a camera higher up in the stands, near the skaters’ exit and entrance to the stadium. A few shoulders and heads obscure part of the ice, muffled mumbles of the crowd blanketing the sound of the recording. The zamboni leaves, and there’s a minute or so of chattering and an empty rink before a small figure enters it.

 

Alina takes center ice, Carmen in her training outfit; tank top, black leggings, ponytail. 

 

Except Carmen falls and stumbles, and then she’s no longer Carmen at all, just Alina Zagitova, the same one at Worlds in March, and maybe a completely different Alina from the one in February.

 

She’s definitely not the Alina in January, the one in red who didn’t quite kick Evgenia off of her throne but rather rose gracefully to take it for herself. The Alina in January who, with a soft and quiet intensity, had become the Alina in February who had won the Olympic title.

 

The Alina in January was a reality check. The Alina in February was a rival. The Alina in March was a fifteen year-old girl carrying the weight of Russia without any space to carry herself.

 

Alina cries in the corner, brown eyes shrouded with tears, Daniil awkwardly comforting her, Eteri standing a distance away, apathetic.

 

Evgenia wishes that the camera would turn away, and that she had been there to hold Alina, to tell her that it would be okay, to take some of the world Alina was carrying and hold in her hands. She wants to stick her head through the screen and rip her former coach apart with her teeth. She wants to punch the person holding the camera, slap the lens away from Alina.

 

Mostly, she wishes that she had been there. 

 

(Correction: she was there, just too caught up in preparing her own skate that she didn’t wish Alina good luck or give her a smile or notice that the shine in her eyes were tears).

 

She tastes blood, and it’s bitter like fury, like regret, like guilt, and it burns down her throat. Dislodging her teeth from her bottom lip, she begs for forgiveness in her imagination.

 

(In another world she holds Alina as she cries and kisses her salty tears off of her cheeks and fixes her smudged makeup so that Alina would smile that sweet smile of hers and everything would be alright.)

 

In this world Alina is a strong girl and she cries on her own.

 

* * *

 

[2:53 am]

 

janny: i forgot to wish you luck

 

janny: but

 

janny: you did great!

 

 

azagitova: wasn’t perfect

 

 

janny: doesn’t need to be

 

janny: especially not at this time of the season

 

 

azagitova: maybe for you, medvedeva

 

 

janny: what does that mean, ms. zagitova?

 

 

azagitova: a perfect you would’ve remembered that all of us exist

 

azagitova: sasha, anna, alena, alexey, me, everyone else

 

azagitova: they asked why you didn’t even say hi

 

 

janny: i was nervous and distracted?

 

 

azagitova: excuses

 

azagitova: so was i

 

 

janny: i wish i’d been there

 

janny: i’m sorry

 

 

azagitova: you were there

 

azagitova: you just forgot about both us and your choreography this time

 

azagitova: you’re becoming canadian much faster than i thought

 

azagitova: or are you becoming javi?

 

 

janny: ha! as if

 

janny: you’re not missing me that much are you?

 

 

azagitova: maybe a little

 

janny: so you missed me a lot

 

 

azagitova: shush

 

* * *

 

Evgenia only realizes that she’s brooding when Jun compares her to Yuzuru, who’s slouched into a ball in the corner of the booth, earphones blocking the world out and phone so close to his face that it could’ve touched his glasses if he shifted even the slightest bit. His plate of food is nigh untouched, save for the pieces that Jason and Jun had been stealing throughout the meal.

 

They’d decided to stop for dinner on the way back to Toronto, far away from the swarms of fans who’d accompanied them to Oakville. It wasn’t a bad idea, but all Evgenia wanted to do was go home and sleep, and then practice after that. While the silver wasn’t quite as bitter as the one in Pyeongchang, a nagging voice in the back of her head kept wondering why she hadn’t improved, kept doubting that she would ever be good enough.

 

“It’s ok, first pancake.” Yuzuru places his phone on his lap, and Evgenia catches a glimpse of his free skate video on the screen.

 

She couldn’t be brooding _that_ much. Not to the point that Yuzuru would try to comfort her, right?

 

“Yeah, first pancake,” Evgenia stabs a piece of broccoli with her fork, “Just wish I could’ve proven myself better you know? First I forget my choreography and now I can’t jump. Kind of frustrating.”

 

“You worry you make the wrong choice.”

 

Evgenia freezes, and her mouth moves without making noise, like some kind of goldfish.

 

As much as she enjoys having fun with Yuzuru, his honesty is always a little off-putting. He says everything with a truthfulness and intensity that Evgenia would never have the courage to do, no matter how much she tries to imitate that same kind of absolute self confidence and belief.

 

In a way, it almost reminds her of Alina. Honest, brutally honest. And absolutely terrifying. Maybe it was an Olympic champion thing, to have the power to throw oneself into the abyss without a second of hesitation. Evgenia ignores the twinge in her chest as she hears Alina’s voice in her head, sees her smoldering eyes dampened with tears.

 

“I’m right?” Yuzuru cocks his head to one side, glancing over at Jason and Jun wrestling on the other side of the booth.

 

Evgenia’s voice breaks. “What do you think?” 

 

There’s a silence so long that Jason and Jun have time to stop their wrestling to go back to poking at their food.

 

“I think, you need to trust the process. Brian know what he’s doing. I would know.” Long legs dislodge themselves from where they were curled up and return to their spot under the table. “Javi tell me same thing when I first come here.”

 

“Oh really?”

 

“At first Brian not let me jump. Very frustrated.”Evgenia laughs, partially because of the absurdity of Yuzuru not jumping and partially because of what she imagines Brian’s face to be. 

 

“Javi say to trust Brian and myself. Javi little dumb sometimes but still worked out, so maybe not so dumb.”

 

He says it with such conviction that Evgenia starts laughing again. She almost expects him to join in, but Yuzuru just sits and smiles, a distant look on his face.

 

“If Javi said it, then I guess I’ll have to try,” she says.

 

Yuzuru hums. “You didn’t make choice from impulse, so work hard and will be fine. Everything.”

 

Everything. Something about the way he says it makes Evgenia want to believe it. It makes her want to believe it the same way she wanted to believe what Alina told her when she was fifteen and watching Sochi reruns on television, because “ _Zhenya you can win in 2018 I know you can”_ was all the convincing she ever needed.

 

And then the move. Endless talks with the federation, with her mother and her grandmother and Elizabet and Javi and Brian. It was a calculated choice, and yet…

 

“Do you ever miss Javi?” The words slip out before Evgenia takes notice of them, too desperate for a distraction.

 

“Yes. Always.” Yuzuru fiddles with his right earphone. “Sometimes I land jump or fall and look up and always used to him being there but there is no one.”

 

Evgenia doesn’t understand why there’s a twisting in her gut, why there's a hand that’s squeezing her windpipe and suffocating her. _He left you_.

 

“But it okay, I think. Javi do what best for Javi and I am happy for him.” He smiles, but it’s distant, almost forced, like he’d just taken a sip of black coffee. “I have Javi for six years, maybe is long enough.”

 

_I’m doing what’s best for me. I left_.

 

And she imagines Alina, sweet, sweet Alina, smile bitterly, remembers her face when she said that she was leaving, and her heart breaks. She’s not sure whether it’s from imagining Alina like Yuzuru or from the part of her mind that tells her Alina might not be missing her at all.

 

There’s nothing quite as pitiful as pitying an Olympic champion in a diner booth twenty kilometers away from Oakville.

 

* * *

 

 

[2:38 am]

 

janny: good luck at nebelhorn

 

 

azagitova: thank you

 

azagitova: but i won’t need it

 

 

janny: i didn't forget about you this time and this is what i get in response?

 

 

azagitova: you shouldn’t forget about me at all

 

azagitova: it’s late

 

azagitova: go to sleep

 

 

janny: yes ma’am

 

* * *

 

“Need help with that?”

 

Evgenia jumps in her seat and fumbles with her eyeliner so vigorously that it falls out of her grip and clatters on the ground. She forces her trembling fingers to accept it from an outstretched hand.

 

Alina’s eyebrows furrow in concern as she stands back up, skirt blinding red against the black locker room floor. Evgenia hastily places the eyeliner on the counter and swivels around, knocking her water bottle off of the counter in the process. She scrambles to pick it up, and manages to drop it again on the way up, before finally slamming it onto the counter and smoothing her skirt against her legs as if to pretend nothing had just happened. 

 

If she wasn’t feeling nauseous before, she definitely is now; filled to the brim with nervous energy and falling apart in front of Alina, of all people. Twenty minutes before the free skate at the Grand Prix Finals and Evgenia can barely apply her makeup, much less gather herself enough to skate.

Fourth in the short program. She’d been completely unable to sleep, the fall and the edge error plaguing her mind every time she closed her eyes. Brian had told her to forget about it, that tomorrow (today) would be a new day. Evgenia isn’t sure how much she believed in her ability tolet yesterday go.

 

Alina pulls up a chair and settles down in it, before picking up the eyeliner from the table.

 

“I’ll do it for you,” she pulls Evgenia around so they're facing each other, “okay?”

 

Evgenia nods.

 

Alina’s hand settles gently on her left cheek, and Evgenia closes that eye, feeling the cold liquid against her eyelid. She’s hyperaware of everything: Alina’s hand brushing against her cheek, the proximity of her face, her left hand supporting the right side of Evgenia’s face. Alina’s eyes are focused but warm, peeking out below her lashes. Alina’s makeup is already done, and it takes Evgenia a while to realize that it looks different because she has a makeup artist now.

 

Alina moves on to the other eye.

 

“Nervous?”

 

“Scared shitless,” Evgenia admits. There’s something cathartic about voicing her emotions to someone else, even if that person happened to be her competitor.

 

“So?” The brush moves to the outer edge of her eyelid.

 

Alina caps the brush, before picking up the mascara. 

 

“You don’t need to-“

 

“I want to.”

 

Evgenia feels her throat constrict. “Okay.”

 

There’s a moment of silence as Alina unscrews the mascara tube.

 

“So?”

 

“What do you mean “so?”” Evgenia exclaims with minimal movement to the best of her ability.

 

Alina shrugs as she dips the mascara wand into the tube before applying the cosmetic to Evgenia’s other eye. “What’re you going to do about it?”

 

“What do you mean? I don’t know, try to not be scared?” Evgenia’s shoulders drop. She almost feels cornered. Alina replaces the wand in the tube and closes it, giving Evgenia an unimpressed look. She takes Evgenia’s makeup pouch and pulls out two colors of lipstick, one in each hand.

 

“Which one?”

“The darker one.”

 

Alina replaces the other tube.

 

Evgenia sighs. “Honestly, I don’t know how you do it. Just jumping headfirst into something without hesitation or fear, even though you’ve got a world of expectation on you.”

 

“I don’t jump headfirst without fear. Everyone is scared,” Alina holds Evgenia’s chin firmly in her hand. 

 

“Don’t move your mouth,” she orders, before applying the lipstick to Evgenia’s bottom lip, “I try not to hesitate, though. Don’t want to overthink things. It makes everything easier.”

 

“I don’t know how to do that!”

 

“You should.” Alina begins working on her top lip. “I learned it from you.”

 

Evgenia’s heart swells, and she struggles to stop her jaw from dropping. “What do you mean?”

 

“Since when has Evgenia Medvedeva hesitated?” Alina caps the lipstick. “Thirteen world records don’t come from hesitation. Neither do two world titles. And a move to Canada.”

 

She places the lipstick into the bag and zips it up before plopping it unceremoniously into Evgenia’s lap. She leans in, face so close that Evgenia can feel her breaths against her face.

 

“What happened?” She whispers.

 

_I got scared. I_ lost _._ “I don’t know.”

 

Alina takes both of Evgenia’s hands in her own, presses her forehead against the other’s. Nothing between their skin but Evgenia’s bangs.

 

“Do you want to win?”

 

_“Yes.”_

 

“You want something?” Her eyes are piercing, no longer warm but scorching hot; Alina is an inferno and Evgenia lets her skin burn. “Then take it.”

 

 

* * *

 

Vancouver is freezing cold and burning hot. She wins the free skate and they stand together on the podium.

 

Victory is sweet.  


 

She takes it with gusto.

 

* * *

 

[7:45 pm]

 

janny: when did you get so smart?

 

azagitova: i’ve always been smart

 

janny: did you learn that from me too?

 

azagitova: don’t push it :)

 

* * *

 

One year and three months later, Evgenia learns two things.

 

The first: That she’ll never truly understand the burden that a seventeen-year-old Olympic champion carries, no matter how much it hurts wrapping a comforting arm around Alina as she sobs on a locker room bench after a disaster ridden free skate.

 

The second: That she might be hopelessly in love because Alina outshines the sun and stars as she picks herself up after every fall and throws herself without hesitation into the next, regardless of the pain in her knee.

 

Her words about not needing to be perfect fall on semi-deaf ears, because the last two years have taught Alina more wisdom than all of Evgenia’s twenty.

 

Montreal is only kind enough to gift one of them with a medal.

 

Some of us need to be more perfect than others.

 

* * *

 

They celebrate Alina’s birthday via video call. There’s no cake except for the slice that Alina’s grandmother purchased, which went untouched after the candle was blown out; Alina cheerfully held it in front of her phone for Evgenia to see. It’s a piece of strawberry shortcake, tilting awkwardly to one side, the large “18” candle threatening to fall off and take half the slice with it.

 

Evgenia finds it surprisingly easy to go back to the way they usually were, as if there wasn't an entire ocean between them. They don’t mention Worlds, or the next season or the Cricket Club or Sambo. Instead there’s small talk, asking about family, hobbies, and gentle teasing. Alina laughs at her jokes (she seems to be the only one who always does; Yuzuru always goes on about being more serious during practice and Jun makes fun of her puns) and it warms Evgenia’s chest to the point where she feels giddy and almost feverish. She hopes that the dim lamplight isn’t bright enough to make her cheeks visible because they’re burning up as well.

 

They talk for almost half an hour when Masaru wanders into view and Evgenia excitedly calls for her, with Iriska slinking out of the room the moment Masaru enters.

 

“Masaru! I’ve missed you!”

 

Alina beckons the dog over with a smile, petting her back and placing a kiss on her head. She picks her phone up from the table so that Evgenia can get a better view.

 

“She’s gotten so big!”

 

“Not much since the last time you saw her.”

 

“Still. Bigger.”

 

Alina rolls her eyes and stands her phone back up on the table. Masaru moves underneath Alina’s arms, and she shifts to make more space. For a split second, her face contorts in pain as she adjusts her legs, but its gone as soon as it came.

 

“It’s your knee again, isn’t it?” It’s not a question, and Alina gives her a cold look. Evgenia presses on, “You have to get it checked out by a doctor.”

 

“I did. It’s Osgood-Schlatter,” Alina shrugs nonchalantly, and pats Masaru again. “Not a big deal.”

 

“Was Worlds not a big deal?” Evgenia’s voice rises a few pitches, and the distress builds up like boiling water in a kettle. “I don’t care what _she_ says, your health is more important!”

 

“That wasn’t because of the injury,” Alina states. Her voice drops twenty degrees, and if Evgenia wasn’t Evgenia she’d likely be dead from her glare. “I’ll be fine, at least until the Olympics.”

 

“And what if you aren’t fine?”

 

“I am fine. And I will be fine.”

 

Evgenia’s face is heating up, and for all the wrong reasons. Her throat constricts and her palms are sweaty and there’s this deep feeling of dread in her chest. 

 

“What if you’re not?” She chokes. “You can’t do that to yourself. What happens after? Do you just stop skating?”

 

“After doesn’t matter. I can retire, after.” Alina hesitates, her eyebrows pressing downward, body tense. “Lots of other people have Osgood-Schlatter. Like Nathan. He’s fine. Florent had it too. He’s also fine”

 

“Nathan _had_ it. And he got it checked out. So did Florent, and he took time off to rest. You know who else had it? David. And he retired because of it.”

 

“I told you, I’ll be fine.” Alina asserts, this time like a teacher trying to discipline a child, “just because you _think_ I won’t be fine and that you seem to _think_ that I’m weak doesn’t mean that I am.”

 

Evgenia blinks, and realizes that there are tears prickling behind her eyelids. _Don’t start crying, don’t start crying, please don’t start crying_.

 

Alina is silent as she watches Evgenia take two desperate breaths. 

 

“I don’t think you’re weak,” she says, watery sounding but confident, “you’re the strongest person I know.”

 

She can’t look at Alina’s face, but she feels the air between them soften. Masaru nuzzles against Alina’s neck and the girl melts downward to meet her.

 

“There’s gonna be a whole future for you. It’s worth taking a season or a couple of months off to heal. You don’t have to win the Olympics. Just don’t throw skating away like this, not when you’ve spent most of your life on it.”

 

Evgenia glances up, and Alina’s eyes are averted from the camera, looking down at Masaru. She no longer feels like crying, but forcing a grin on her face is still difficult.

 

“Besides, you’re my favorite skater. Don’t tell anyone.” Evgenia puffs up, trying to seem a little more cheerful.

 

At that, Alina cracks a small smile, face still mostly buried in Masaru’s fur.

 

“Oh, what’ll I do without you?” Evgenia laments dramatically, “Who am I gonna watch and compete against? Who’s gonna be my future ice dance partner?”

 

Alina laughs, eyes turning into small crescents. “I’m sure Jason would be willing to take up that offer.”

 

They both laugh, this time. Masaru pads away, and Alina holds her phone in her lap, looking down with the ghost of a smile on her lips.

 

“Sorry for being mean,” Alina offers. The smile melts away to a sombre expression. “But I can’t afford taking time off. I-We need the money, and if I slack off even a little, there are plenty of other girls to replace me.”

 

Evgenia frowns. “You don’t need to be perfect now. There’s always 2026.”

 

Alina smiles, but shakes her head. “I’m sorry. See you later, if you’re coming to Moscow after ice shows. Goodnight.”

 

“Night.”

 

“Miss you.”

 

* * *

 

They don’t dare risk walking in a park, but Alina’s balcony is close enough; the evening air cool despite it being the middle of summer.

 

After having taught Alina’s grandmother the correct way to make cup noodles that she’d brought from Japan (thanks, Jun, for giving the entire Cricket Club a crash course on cup noodles after seeing Conrad mess them up one too many times), Evgenia ate dinner with Alina and her grandmother. They’d played around with Masaru and Iriska and Alina’s chinchillas for a short while, taking a ridiculously large amount of photos and likely using up most of the storage on her phone.

 

And now, the two of them, together, on the balcony of Alina’s apartment. Alina looks over the railing at the few ant-sized pedestrians below, making up stories about them while Evgenia tries desperately to pay attention to those people only to find herself staring at Alina instead.

 

Alina’s hair is dark, but orange on the edges where the ambient light hits, crowning her face in a mane of orange flame. Her face is relaxed and resting in a gentle smile, her brow free of the slight frown it had a tendency to take up when stressed. A light pink dusts her cheeks and nose from the chilly wind; Alina looks older and younger at the same time, her cheeks having lost some of their childish chubbiness over the years, but the joy brimming beneath that is childlike and precious. Evgenia thinks that she can see the stars in Alina’s eyes, although the sane part of her knows that they’re just reflections of streetlights.

 

What she would do to preserve this state of contentment and calm, to freeze time so she could keep this little moment, where Alina is relaxed and free and happy, where Alina isn’t the Olympic champion so she can set her burden aside and just be the eighteen year-old who loves skating.

 

Sometimes, Evgenia really wonders how anyone could fall so hard. It makes sense now, looking at the most beautiful being in the universe.

 

(She blames her sappiness on the telenovelas Javi got her to watch on the bus between shows.)

 

“What?” 

 

Evgenia freezes, realizing that she’s been caught staring. Her cheeks start flaring up again, and this time there’s no way Alina doesn’t notice, because even the wind isn’t that cold.

 

“U-uh-uhm nothing. Right. Yes. Nothing.”

 

She’s met with a raised eyebrow. “Something about the most beautiful being in the universe?”

 

_“Shit.”_ Evgenia’s heart sinks in an instant, lost along with her dignity. She wishes she could disappear into thin air, although throwing herself off of the railing doesn’t seem like too bad an idea either.

 

Alina just smiles, reaches over and gently moves Evgenia’s face to look at her. “That would be you, you know.”

 

Her previously sunken heart decides to inflate and float back up at an alarming speed, racing. Everything is warm despite the cold air. _Screw being scared_.

 

She flings herself into the precipice.

 

Evgenia cups two hands on Alina’s face and kisses her.

The precipice is warm, the landing is soft.

 

Alina’s lips are sweet.

 

* * *

[2:03 am]

 

janny: wakaba wakaba wakaba

 

janny: say a person hypothetically kissed their friend, who they liked

 

janny: and their friend kissed back

 

janny: are they girlfriends now?

 

* * *

 

[7:30 am]

 

wakawaka: congrats!

 

wakawaka: you two are finally dating now?

 

 

janny: that’s what i was asking you!

 

janny: also i never said anything about myself

 

 

wakawaka: you’re not exactly subtle

 

wakawaka: go ask her yourself

 

* * *

 

 

“I’ve decided to get my knee checked out,” Alina states out of the blue, not looking up from her phone.

 

“Wait really? What changed your mind?”

 

“I thought about it a little,” Alina says, “I think I like skating too much.”

 

Evgenia grins into her breakfast. “No kidding.”

 

“There’s no guarantee that I’ll take time off or anything, but I want to be strong in the future and keep skating until I'm old.”

 

“How old?”

 

“As old as you, grandma.”

 

Alina laughs at Evgenia’s pout, barely managing to not spew coffee all over the table. 

 

“Just kidding. Maybe Brian’s age.”

 

This time Evgenia laughs too, and she reaches over to take Alina’s hand, pulling it into the middle of the table, turning it palm up and resting her hand on top. The laughter dies away, leaving a comfortable silence.

 

Alina’s hand is warm and soft, and Evgenia is pretty sure hers is uncomfortably sweaty.

 

“Are we dating?”

 

“I don’t know. Do you want to date me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Evgenia leans over to kiss her. Alina smiles against her lips.

 

“Your lips taste like jam,” Alina giggles.

 

“Your lips taste like bad coffee.”

 

“Don’t be so rude to your girlfriend.”

 

“Yes ma’am.”

 

They laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this isn't meant to speculate on or reflect anyone's lives and is purely for entertainment purposes. Because this is RPF, it's staying on locked.
> 
> I apologize for any mistakes (please correct me if you see any) and for this half-baked fanfic that I banged out in the middle of the night over the past couple of weeks and I wanted to get this out before the GP started. These aren't predictions in any way (the ladies field is so wild rn i wouldn't try to predict the gpf) so just take it as a hopefully they'll both make it to GPF wish(?) I guess?
> 
> This isn't beta-read or thoroughly edited and probably will not be in the near future.


End file.
